My husband Charles and I took a much needed late summer vacation this past week to Orange Beach.
We spent seven blissful days sitting beneath a big umbrella, enjoying a pleasant breeze, listening to that familiar soothing rhythm of the waves, and reading for hours and hours every day.
It was 57 years ago this fall that 31,000 National Guard troops rolled into Oxford, Mississippi to facilitate the registration of the first Black man at the University of Mississippi. I was a fifth grader at Lockard Elementary, but I remember it well.
Bryan Davis is an amazing editor who lets this dinosaur grandmother rant about whatever strikes her fancy on any given week.
Well, I am fresh off a babysitting assignment in Birmingham for the past six days, and I do indeed have a rant. Kid movies are not for kids anymore. When did this happen?
I don’t think everyday parables ever end.
I have had a desire—well actually, desire, is not the word—I have had an obsessive compulsive, out-of-control perceived need for a real tomato sandwich lately.
This has been one of those weeks when I had a thousand ideas about what I wanted to write.
That is not always a good thing. Too many random ideas probably make me the poster child for why computer screens and cable news are bad for our brains. I have not been able to zero in on one topic. Maybe this will just be a scrambled ramble!
On a page captioned “Life & Arts” in Thursday’s Wall Street Journal were the profiles of 10 women sharing individual experiences and opinions on forging new paths in middle age. They hailed from the Northeast, the Pacific Northwest, Hawaii, Canada and the Midwest.
The year was 1994.
There were a lot of things happening in my life, and none of them were very good.
However, like any well brought up Southern girl, I was adept at putting on my smile as easily as I put on my lipstick. (And I really love my lipstick.) Even my closest friends thought I was quite “together.”